


And Then There Were Three

by Cynthia_of_the_Wallflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Cutting, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hogwarts Founders Era, Implied Relationships, One Shot, Short One Shot, Suicide, Tissue Warning, Tragedy, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4609056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthia_of_the_Wallflowers/pseuds/Cynthia_of_the_Wallflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Salazar cuts, and one time he just goes too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Then There Were Three

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything in it.

It was stupid, he knew. Stupid, dangerous, foolish, and utterly Gryffindor ― except Godric would _never_ be doing something like this ― but he couldn't seem to get himself to stop. It was like an addiction, his coping mechanism, but he knew it was a sign of weakness (something he strived so hard to rid himself of), and the others would be upset if they ever found out ― not that he ever planned to let them ― and so he had tried to stop. He had succeeded for a while, only doing it when things became unbearable, and he had all but stopped when they had built Hogwarts and solidified their bond but-

But now, after seeing the terror on Helga's face, the shock in Rowena's eyes, and the repulsion practically written across Godric's forehead ― because being a Parselmouth _had_ to be a sign of a Dark wizard, never mind that it was just a _language_ , a _genetically inherited_ trait and he could never have not had it, even if his magic _had_ been inclined towards the light ― he couldn't stop himself.

Stumbling into his rooms, he took his customary dagger and locked himself in the bathroom, where it would be all too easy to wash away the evidence of his weakness.

He watched the line of blood ooze from his arm impassively, the sting temporarily soothing the ache, the _hurtpainsorrowbetrayal_ in his heart, before etching yet another line amongst the multitude of scars already crisscrossing his pale skin.

Another cut and another, and before long, rivulets of blood had snaked their way down his arms and stained his robes a darker shade of black. He really should have taken them off, but he had been too hurt to think rationally at the beginning, all he had wanted was to stop _thinking_ , stop _feeling_. He never should have allowed them to get so close to him, for him to care for them; hadn't he learned _anything_ from his father's betrayal? To love is to be hurt; he knew that, and yet he had so stupidly done exactly that...

He was growing rather light headed from the blood loss, and he knew he should stop. He hadn’t gone this far since that horrible day his father had murdered his mother (and tried to do the same to him) ― just because they were _different_ , had _magic_. His eyes drifted to the cupboard, holding the bandages and other medical supplies that he had, and back to his arm. The knife hovered above his upturned wrist, and, he wondered, just for a second, if he should just make that last cut, put himself out of his misery, because really, what did he have to live for, now that his friends, the people he cared for more than anything in the world, were disgusted by him?

"Sal?" A crash. "Sal, are you here? I'm really sorry, you just took us by surprise-" The sound of Godric's voice babbled from just outside the bathroom door. He must have forgotten to set his wards in his haste, and so Godric had probably managed to break the door, from the sound of the crash; he had always been rather brutish-

"Sal?" Salazar looked up to see Godric's horrified face, but couldn't quite find the energy to care anymore, his glassy green gaze drifting back to the blood still oozing from his arm. "Oh god, you're bleeding!"

'An astute observation, Godric,' Salazar wanted to say. 'I am once again astounded by your eye for detail.' But his mouth did not seem to want to move.

"-you do this to yourself? Why-" Godric had rushed to his side and was attempting to stop the blood. He had never been one for healing though ― that had always been Helga's area of expertise, though both Salazar and Rowena knew some spells (or in Salazar's case, potions) as well ― so his work was shoddy at best. Salazar watched on in a detached, morbidly-interested manner that he knew, in some remote corner of his brain, was not a good sign for his future wellbeing.

His vision was beginning to blur, spots blotting out the fiery red mane of Godric as he tried desperately to help. Salazar knew he should get up, get a bandage and a potion to stop the blood, but he was really didn't feel like moving. And he was tired, so tired of facing rejection after rejection, betrayal after betrayal, so much pain and loss because no one could ever seem to just accept him the way he was. The others had apologized, accepted _now_ , but if they had reacted that way to just him being a Parselmouth, how would they react to his being a Dark Wizard? To his basilisk familiar?

He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to face that. He wasn’t afraid of nothingness, of the unknown. Death couldn’t be so bad. Perhaps death could heal the ever-widening hole in what was left of his heart.

He dimly registered the sound of footsteps, and the gasps of "Salazar!" and "Sali!" from Rowena and Helga respectively, before Godric's calloused hands were replaced by the hard, work-worn fingers of Helga. A cold cold feeling had begun to creep through his veins. The last thing he remembered their terrified cries and the soft, slim hands of Rowena catching him as his world began to tilt sideways. And then there was nothing.


	2. Bonus ― From A Raven’s Point of View

The loud bang of the doors of the Entrance Hall slamming shut snapped Rowena out of her shock and she felt the guilt well up at her reaction to the discovery of his ability. So she started after him. Godric lurched forwards at her.

“Wait, Row, wh-” She whipped around so quickly she was surprised her neck didn’t crick.

“What do you mean _wait?_ ” Godric recoiled, as if slapped, but Rowena couldn’t bring herself to care. “Salazar is _upset_ , and you _know_ he’s never been the most stable of mind! Or have you forgotten, with your narrow-minded, black-and-white perception, that Salazar is our _friend?_ Or has that somehow _changed_  now because he is a _Parselmouth?_ ”

Godric opened his mouth ― to argue or agree, she didn’t know, because the rapidly increasing fury in her expression wisely prompted him to shut it.

“Have you forgotten that Parseltongue is a _hereditary_ ability? That while Parseltongue _is_ an indicator of darker-oriented magic, dark magic does not represent evil?” Rowena said lowly, her eyes narrowed. “Have you forgotten that I too, practice dark magic? That my own magic is grey?”

Godric had begun to look quite guilty, and beside him, Helga’s eyes were downcast, but Rowena gave none of them a chance to interrupt her scathing diatribe.

“We have suspected that Salazar is a dark wizard for _years,_ ” she hissed. “Since before we even built Hogwart! Why is this confirmation such a horrifying realization? Why are you all acting like you’ve just stumbled upon a Nundu?”

“We’re not- we didn’t-” Helga whispered.

“Didn’t think, I know,” Rowena said with a sneer worthy of Salazar. Godric looked stricken.

“We should-”

“Go find him, yes,” Rowena agreed, sweeping towards the doors, cursing her long skirts. “Before he does something monumentally foolish, as I’ve found men are prone to doing.” She felt more than saw Godric and Helga racing after her.

They stopped in the Entrance Hall.

“Where would he have gone?” Godric asked, the two automatically glancing at Rowena for answers. She furrowed her brows.

“I don’t know. He could be anywhere. Of the four of us, Salazar is the best acquainted with the castle, and I have no doubt that he has numerous hideaways in every part of the castle. We could search for days and we would never find him.”

“Isn’t there some sort of locater spell that can lead us to him?” Godric demanded, looking more frustrated by the second. Rowena shook her head.

“None that would work in a magic saturated castle like Hogwarts. We can make do with a general direction spell though." Rowena added as Godric cursed. " _Point me Salazar Slytherin._ ” Rowena’s brow furrowed again as her wand pointed down.

“He’s in the dungeons,” Helga sighed. Godric groaned.

Out of all of the areas in the castle, the dungeons were the one section that were truly Salazar’s domain. None of them, save Salazar, were aware of how far the dungeons extended, nor how to navigate them. Not even Helga had ever thought it necessary to explore the deeper reaches of Hogwarts. Her students’ common room, as well as Salazar’s Potions classroom, were in the very first level of the dungeons ― which was as close to the surface as one could get while still residing in the dungeons. Even Salazar’s students’ never ventured past the second level of dungeons, where their common room resided, for fear of losing their way, never to be found again.

As a result, what lurked below the second layer was a complete mystery, unknown to all but Salazar, their creator. Coincidentally, those dark, twisting corridors was also where they knew Salazar’s quarters rested.

“Come on then.” Godric bounded towards one of the many entrances towards the dungeons, conjuring a light as he went. Rowena nodded in agreement.

“No time to dally. Who knows what Salazar could have gotten up to in the time we’ve wasted?”

“Do you think we should split up?” Helga asked anxiously as they descended. Rowena shook her head.

“We cannot. We cannot risk splitting up and having one of us getting lost. If Salazar has done something foolish, as I expect he has, and is hurt, we cannot have you lost and wandering who knows where in this maze.”

The path seemed to stretch on too long for Rowena’s liking. The very air seemed charged with a tenseness that had not made itself palpable in the open air of Hogwarts’ grassy grounds, where they had first seen Salazar hissing at a small garden snake. Around them, Hogwarts hummed, a sensation that Rowena herself was rarely acquainted with, but knew Salazar and Helga, and, to a lesser extent, Godric, felt almost constantly. So she knew the instant something had happened, as Hogwarts _cried_.

“Oh _no_ oh nonono please!” Helga whimpered, the hum undoubtedly a hundredfold times louder for her.

Hogwarts seemed to be on their side for once, because the shifting corridors changed to create a single path, preventing them from losing their way.

Godric pale face stood out against his fiery hair as he raced ahead. Rowena hastened her pace, cursing her skirts once again. Ahead of them, they heard Godric banging on something ― a door, likely.

“Sal? Sal, are you there? Open up! Sal!” He cursed, and there was a brief moment of silence before Hogwarts’ magic _swelled_ , and there was a crash of wards shattering. "Sal?" A clang and clatter of a door smashing apart. "Sal, are you here? I'm really sorry, you just took us by surprise-" Godric’s voice became muffled as he, presumably, moved further into Salazar’s rooms.

Rowena rounded the corner, Helga right behind her, and they raced through the shattered door. Rowena briefly noted that the wards on the Salazar’s rooms must not have been too strong, or perhaps just not activated at their full strength, or Godric would have had a bit of trouble with them, even with Hogwarts’ help, before her thoughts were cut off by the scene that greeted her as she skidded to a stop in front of the open door of the bathroom.

“Salazar?” The whisper slipped past her lips in shock as she took in the macabre sight in front of her.

“Sali?” Helga echoed faintly beside her.

Rowena barely noticed Helga snap out of her shock and rush past her. She had never, in all of years with Salazar, imagined that he was- he could-

But the dark, pooling liquid staining the floor of the bathroom, still dribbling from his _hundreds_ of scars, begged to differ.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the oozing wounds that he- he _inflicted upon himself_. The sight made a sickening bile well up in her throat.

Why in Merlin’s name had she never _noticed_? All the signs were there.

He _never_ took off his shirt in front of them ― in front of anyone, really, even Godric. He always wore long-sleeved clothes, no matter how stifling the heat or how inconvenient it would be for their task. They had thought he was just “being a priss,” as Godric had put it. But she should have seen it, the way his hand would come up to trace something ― a scar, she knew now ― on his arm when he was upset. The way he was reckless to the point of suicidal ― well, not reckless exactly; just uncaring of his own health, never letting them take any risky roles in their plans- And his behavior! The way he was abnormally reserved, never talked about his past, would sometimes withdraw from the conversation entirely, staring off to the distance, seeing something they couldn’t, his eyes filled with some unexplainable sadness...

Merlin, there had been so many clues. So many indicators. Why hadn’t she noticed? What kind of friend was she, to not notice that her friend was depressed to the point of self harm? Where was the intelligence she prided herself in?

“Row, help me!” Helga’s urgent voice broke through her shock-induced haze of self-incrimination.

“What-” She broke herself off when Salazar, curled in upon himself and looking smaller and more vulnerable than she had ever seen him, slumped to the side. She lunged forward, catching him before she even consciously thought about her actions.

“Sal!”

Rowena ignored Godric’s panicked cry, more concerned for Salazar’s state. He looked even worse from up close. His breaths, short and irregular, as if he was having trouble breathing, were already slowing. His emerald eyes were half lidded and unseeing, his skin paler than she knew healthy ― and his skin tone had already been bordering the fringes of what was considered healthy in the first place ― and cold to the touch.

“Godric, there must be medical potions in that cupboard, we need Dittany-” Helga ordered. Godric, hovering helplessly, flung himself at the cupboard, yanking it open.

“There aren’t any labels-”

“It’s brown, like mud-”

“There are three bottles with-”

“Just bring them over!”

“It’s too late,” Rowena said, surprisingly calm. Helga and Godric stopped their dispute to stare at her.

“No it’s not!” Helga denied desperately, “We can-”

“He slit his wrists.” All eyes drifted to Salazar’s wrists, where a thick, copious stream of blood still oozed, unresponsive to Helga’s healing magic, spilling his life’s substance onto the floor. Rowena felt as if she was staring down from some outsider’s perspective, distant and disconnected. She continued in a detached, empty voice that she didn’t know she had. “He broke the vein. We have no way of healing that, not even with magic. I doubt Salazar can even hear us now. He’s too far gone.”

“No,” Helga croaked, shaking her head in fervent denial, tears slowly leaking out of her hazel eyes. Her wand glowed with healing magic that had never once failed her before, but blood continued seeping out of the gaping wound. “No- He can’t-” She sucked in a short, shuddering breath. “It’s not- Why-” She fell to her knees beside Salazar, forgoing her wand altogether, her next words coming out a choked sob. “Why-”

Godric sank to the floor bonelessly, unable to take his eyes off Salazar’s bloodless face. Helga’s trembling hands fluttered uselessly over the opened wrist, glowing with her wandless healing magic, over and over again, her fingers stained a dark, bloody crimson.

And as Helga sobbed, Godric howled, and Hogwarts wept, Rowena could only bury her dry face in Salazar's soft hair, her heart as cold as the man she cradled in her arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment.


End file.
